


Non-productive, Late Night, Wandering Thoughts

by blktauna



Category: The Sweeney (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blktauna/pseuds/blktauna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison ruminating on George and her suspicions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non-productive, Late Night, Wandering Thoughts

It had been a long day of waiting for George to come home. He said they were 'chasing down blaggers', but that's what he always said. He'd staggered in with a black eye and a good deal of whisky in him, going on and on how Jack had belted one fellow so hard his false teeth had come loose. Looking at George's shirt buttoned back up the wrong way made her wonder what else Jack had been up to.

Finally, she herded him off to bed and made herself a cup of tea. After sufficient time passed and she knew he'd be asleep instead of lying in wait, she went up to bed herself. Allison sat in bed with her cup of tea and wondered. She wondered what hold Jack Regan had on her husband, what hold that got him more loyalty and time from George than she now did. She traced her finger over George's shoulder, just feeling the texture of his skin. Had he been awake, he'd have been begging her for 'just a little, love... please?'. That brought a smile to her face. George was good at convincing her to give in. Very good. It hadn't been the whole reason she's decided to marry him, but it was a good side benefit. She shifted the blanket over him more carefully as she pondered why she no longer felt like giving in to his pleadings. It wasn't that he was any less enthusiastic. More so in fact. He insisted it was all the near misses and the danger. Made him randy he said. She giggled in her tea. George always smiled when he said it. But now that smile made her angry instead of willing and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe because he wasn't wholly hers anymore. That bastard Regan claimed more and more of his time, and George willingly went along. Even after she'd put her foot down. Then there was the way he looked at George. As if she wouldn't notice. She'd seen plenty of bent lads look at her George the same way. No wonder that Regan was divorced. That poor wife of his.

"Miserable bastard," she whispered.

And she couldn't get George to see that Regan wanted more than just his time. George was too innocent for his own good in some things. Or maybe he wasn't, and that was probably the real reason she was so worried. She knew George would try anything once and probably had. What she didn't know was whether or not he was still at it.

"But would you be coming to me if you were getting it from him?" She sighed and tenderly ran her fingers through his shaggy, ginger hair. "And you need this trimmed, don't you. You'd be a wreck without me. Need a firm hand, you do my lad," she tutted a bit and smoothed his hair down.

George snuffled and snuggled closer to her, one arm flung across her as if he didn't want her to go away. She put her tea down and held his fingers. They were rough from fighting and calloused from his gun. She remembered how different they'd looked when she'd first met him. He'd just turned twenty. A beautiful lad, all blue eyes, freckles and dimples and she'd been swept off her feet. She couldn't figure out why he kept at her. She was older than he, more serious, determined to do better than the people around them and definitely not as promiscuous as the other girls. He just said he liked teachers. He used to wait for her outside of her school in uniform trying to scowl at the children. He usually ended up playing football with them until she came out.

"You're nicking their dads now aren't you?"

A policeman. Funny, when she thought of policemen, she thought of Dixon of Dock Green, all country lanes and rescuing old ladies' kittens, not bloody noses, scarred up hands and lonely nights on her own.

"I wish you'd stayed in uniform, George. We could have moved to the country by now. I could have been teaching at a nice village school and you'd only have to worry about the local lads at the pub getting into fights... but no, you had to go and follow that Jack Regan, didn't you?"

She huffed and let go of his hand, reaching for her tea. He made an unhappy noise and clutched at her nightdress.

"Should have thought of that before you chose that bent old bastard over me then..."

She got out of bed and left him there.

\-------  
end  
November 2005


End file.
